


Yearning and Appetite

by elestaus



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Blood, M/M, Winter in Hieron Spoilers, mostly clean except for a mention of a boner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 07:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13992960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elestaus/pseuds/elestaus
Summary: Throndir and Red Jack work some things out on the road to the Last University.





	Yearning and Appetite

Throndir ran to Red Jack the moment he saw him. Even clear across the camp there was no mistaking the massive figure seated astride the equally massive horse. Others made way for the pair on catching sight of the rider’s horns and bright red skin. His sword was missing and it seemed he’d traded in his lacquered armor for a set of farmer’s clothes, but even dressed in hand-me-downs Red Jack had the bearing of warlord.

The refugee camp was already in a clamor with the return of Corsica Neue and her entourage. It seemed the Legion of the Unstill had picked up another battalion on its return from Rosemerrow, one comprised of halflings, mothkin, gnolls, and human refugees all the way from Velas.

Red Jack broke into a wide grin at the sight of Throndir coming towards him. There was a fresh scar on his cheek - very fresh, if his powers of regeneration hadn’t had time to smooth away the last traces of the injury - and his trim black goatee had grown into more of a beard in the weeks since Throndir had seen him last.

Throndir forced himself to slow from his initial sprint to a more dignified jog as he neared, but all pretense of restraint on his part evaporated when Red Jack swung a leg over Ace’s back and dropped to the ground.

“Oof!” Red Jack exclaimed as he caught him, more for show than out of any real exertion. Throndir knew it’d take more than a hug to throw him off balance. The difference in height between them meant that his face was pressed into the valley between Red Jack’s pecs, not that he was about to complain. He could feel the beat of Red Jack’s heart through the thin shirt he wore and hoped the answering pounding in his own chest would go unnoticed.

Red Jack kept his hands on Throndir’s shoulders when he stepped back to look at him. His smile remained, but there was a strange distance in his eyes that Throndir hadn’t noticed before. It occurred to him then that he had no idea where Red Jack had gone or what he might have done after leaving Old Man’s Chin.

For that matter, Red Jack would have no idea what had become of him.

All sensation of heat drained from Throndir as he realized that what he’d mistaken for ordinary lust concealed a deeper hunger as well.

“You’re looking well,” Red Jack observed.

“You too,” Throndir said, once he was able to speak past the lump in the throat, then added, “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Aye,” Red Jack nodded slowly. “It seems my thread winds on. Yours too. Haha!”

The laugh was subdued compared to what Throndir was used to from him, back when every display of mirth used to shake snow from the branches in Old Man’s Chin, but hearing it was still a relief.

A moment later there was an answering sound from nearby. Kodiak’s joyful barking drew rapidly closer as the great shaggy mastiff hurtled towards them as fast as his feet would carry him. Ace whinnied in greeting as well, and Red Jack knelt to meet the dog a second before Kodiak cannoned into him with enough force to knock a smaller man prone. In all the excitement Throndir was able to put the first stirrings of hunger out of his mind.

It was the last time it would be so easy.

-

Traveling with Corsica and her band on the road to the Last University meant riding in a group made up of everyone who used to live in Rosemerrow, Velas, and the Archives, plus whatever smaller settlements the legion had passed on their return. Nothing about the situation sat well with Throndir. He preferred sticking to the quieter trails with Kodiak or else making camp with a small group of trusted companions.

By contrast, this mass migration felt much too slow and much, much too vulnerable.

At first he’d tried riding with Red Jack near the front of the group. Throndir had hoped the two of them might find some opportunity for privacy en route – he hadn’t reached the point of thinking about what they’d need it for – but it soon emerged that the casual intimacy of riding stirrup to stirrup would have to suffice until they reached their destination.

“Gone,” Red Jack had answered when Throndir asked him about what happened to his sword. “Broken. I couldn’t tell you how long I carried that blade, won and lost my share of battles with it too, but even the best-made weapon breaks in the fullness of time.”

Throndir didn’t ask how it happened. There was a coldness to Red Jack’s manner that Throndir suspected had little to do with the missing sword, though as far as any casual observer would have been able to tell Red Jack’s attitude towards him was just as friendly as it had always been.

Part of him still clung to the hope that he was imagining the feeling of distance between them. Throndir had done everything he could think of to try and bridge the gap, starting with the story of his journey underground and culminating with his visit to the Illuminated Manor in pursuit of Arrell. Red Jack mm’ed and ah’ed in all the right places but even when he described throwing the sword at Arrell in an attempt to kill him before he could flee, Throndir couldn’t shake the feeling that Red Jack’s mind was elsewhere.

Eventually Throndir found some excuse to fall back. Now that he was riding nearer the middle of the pack, however, he realized that he had something else to worry about.

The gnawing in the pit of his stomach had only grown since setting out. It had been difficult controlling his hunger in the streets of Rosemerrow as well, but there at least the majority of people had gone about their business indoors and out of sight. Here everyone was out on the road together.

He thought he’d hit upon the ideal way to satisfy his needs when he visited the theater on his last night in the city. His approach then had been to take only a little from every person in the audience, feeding off their enthusiasm for the play and diminishing what might otherwise have been a night of magic while leaving them physically unharmed. That was the important thing. It was meagre sustenance, but in those days it had been enough.

The memory of the incident brought a fresh wave of hunger. He couldn’t allow something like that to happen again. Not here, where every day on the road presented some new threat to morale. The refugees travelled on hope as much as on horses. He could not permit himself to become a blight on their resolve.

Restraining himself was never harder than when Red Jack was around. What Throndir could sense of his life force was different from that of anyone he’d encountered since he joined the Lance. It was stronger, richer, and more vibrant, for one, and it burned with an intensity that warmed him whenever he was near. Pulling away left him feeling chilled to the bone, which probably meant it was safer to avoid drawing close in the first place.

And still, Throndir couldn’t stop himself from admiring the shape of Red Jack’s muscular shoulders as he rode what he’d hoped would be a safe distance behind.

Throndir urged his horse into a trot and rode until he could fall into step with Corsica Neue at the head of the procession. Her presence alone provided a degree of relief. Splendid black and gold armor helped conceal the full extent of her physical decay, but apart from that she made no attempt to hide what she was. Throndir hadn’t been able to determine if the calming effect was something unique to her, as the Patroness of the Unstill, or if a vampire’s urge to feed was naturally muted around other members of the undead.

Bruised purple lips quirked in half a smile and one piercing yellow eye fixed him with an appraising stare from under the bandages that covered the rest of Corsica’s face.

“You’re the ranger,” she observed with a hint of approval in her voice.

“That’s right,” Throndir answered. “That’s what some people call me, I mean. I don’t know how it started but guess it stuck.”

Corsica’s one visible eye had yet to blink or stray from Throndir’s face. “Red Jim told me all about you.”

“He did?” Throndir couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder to where Red Jack rode behind them, hopefully far enough to be out of earshot. “And, hang on. Did you just call him—”

“Red John, Brawny Jim, Drunken James.” Corsica finally blinked. “What do you need, ranger?”

It took Throndir a second to remember what he was going to ask.

“I thought it might be a good idea for me to scout ahead,” he said at last.

Corsica nodded without waiting to hear more. “Go, if it pleases you. My outriders report that the road ahead is clear but there’s always a chance they may have missed something and our mutual friend assures me your skills are second to none.”

Throndir resisted the temptation to look behind him this time. A week ago learning that Red Jack spoke so highly of him would have thrilled him to his core. Now all it did was remind him of the lonely distance that separated them and the terrible hunger that rose in him whenever they met.

“Make sure you return,” Corsica added before he could leave. “The road is long and we have need of you yet.”

-

Kodiak kept up easily as Throndir spurred his horse over uneven terrain. He’d hoped that escaping into the surrounding hills might grant him some reprieve from the hunger, at least for a time, but lowering his guard had been a mistake. Now every creature that stirred in the underbrush and every rustle in the branches overhead sent spasms through him.

He thought he’d known what it meant to be hungry. Back when he and Kodiak were first scraping by in the Mark of the Erasure every day had felt like it might be his last. Somehow the two of them had made it out alive and now it looked as though they were on their own again.

One thing seemed clear, and that was there was no way for him to go back. If all it took was a momentary lapse of focus for him to fall as far as this then who knew what harm his presence among the refugees might have already done?

Something bounded away through the forest and Throndir had to fight the urge to give chase. He remembered his meeting with the bears and squirrels of Old Man’s Chin. On that day he’d sworn to them that he was not like the others who trespassed in their realm and stained the ground with his blood as proof.

And yet their lives were as vital as any human, elf, or halfling’s.

A fresh shudder wracked Throndir’s body. Was that a glimpse of what lay in store for him? Scourge of the forest, reviled by bird and beast alike? In a state of near-delirium he saw flashes of a future where they cast him out of the woods, the only place he’d ever felt at home.

It was too much for him to remain in the saddle. Throndir tripped as he dismounted and nearly fell. Catching himself on the trunk of a nearby tree meant losing his grip on the reins and allowing his frightened horse to bolt. Throndir stayed there for several minutes, trembling with his arms braced against the tree for support while sweat beaded on his forehead. The shaking wouldn’t stop, but eventually he was able to ease himself to the ground with his back to the tree.

As soon as his face was within reach Kodiak came and nuzzled under his chin. Throndir rubbed the fur on the back of the dog’s neck. It was good to know there was one area where he still had control; no matter how far he fell, he would never harm Kodiak. He would wither away to nothing before that happened.

Newly buoyed by this surge of determination, Throndir got to his feet.

“You will starve at this rate,” Red Jack announced in a flat, emotionless voice.

Throndir hadn’t heard him approach, either on foot or on Ace. Red Jack stood maybe thirty feet away with his new sword in hand, a replacement borrowed from one of Corsica’s soldiers that looked almost comically small compared to the massive curved blade Throndir was used to seeing strapped to his back. Red Jack was careful to keep it pointed low and to one side, but his grip on the weapon’s hilt was far from casual.

If anything Red Jack appeared to have grown even taller than before, his chest broader and his muscles more pronounced. Throndir’s entire body tensed with the effort of holding himself back at the sight as past fantasies of what it might be like to lie beside Red Jack at night warred with a monstrous urge to devour him whole.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have lived,” he admitted.

Even as he was saying it he knew it wasn’t something he could accept. He’d clawed his way back from the brink of death once before already.

Red Jack’s expression softened slightly.

“Many’s the time I’ve wondered if it wouldn’t be better to die,” he said. “To lay myself down somewhere quiet and not to stir until the earth swallowed me whole. And yet, here I am.”

Throndir swallowed. His mouth felt dry and every time he tried to speak his tongue got in the way.

“There’s no shame in living,” Red Jack continued, “but to live as you do means preying on those who are most vulnerable. What do you intend to do?”

“I don’t know,” Throndir choked out at last. It felt as if he were on the verge of tears. Where could he possibly go? Could he find somewhere remote enough that no one else would be at risk even after the hunger wore down the last vestiges of his self-control? Who would take care of Kodiak if that happened?

Sensing the veiled threat from Red Jack, Kodiak began to growl. Throndir was glad of the opportunity to hide his face in the dog’s coat as he knelt to stroke and reassure him. Doing so meant he could wipe the tears from his eyes without Red Jack seeing.

Throndir only looked up again at the sound of Red Jack driving his sword into the ground. That was enough to silence Kodiak, though his growling resumed a moment later when Red Jack started towards them. Red Jack ignored the warning. The sword stayed where it was, buried point-first in the dirt close to where he’d been standing. Now only fifteen feet or separated them. Kodiak wormed his way out of Throndir’s grip the better to respond to any sudden moves but Throndir himself was frozen in place. He could feel the heat of Red Jack’s life force radiating off him as if it were a physical thing.

“Don’t come any–” was all Throndir managed to say before Red Jack was kneeling to put his arms around him.

Time moved in a series of disorienting lurches as Throndir’s mind struggled to keep pace with his body. His weight might not have been enough to bowl Red Jack over under normal circumstances but the speed of his lunge proved sufficient to catch him off balance. The two of them rolled for a short distance down the slope of the hill before coming to rest with Throndir on top and Red Jack pinned beneath him in the dirt and leaves.

Throndir’s hands moved on their own, tearing savagely at the neck of Red Jack’s shirt in their haste to bare more of his skin. Here were the smooth curves and bulging muscles he’d only ever fantasied about getting to touch like this before, his flesh a brighter red than usual, it seemed. Blood smeared across Throndir’s fingers where they came in contact with Red Jack’s skin. Already he could feel relief washing over him as he finally allowed himself to drink in the waves of vitality being drawn to the surface, but it wasn’t enough. Not after starving himself for so long.

Blood spurted around his fangs when he sank them into the meat of Red Jack’s shoulder. Now there was blood spilling past his chin, too fast for him to drink. With every swallow a greater amount escaped Throndir’s mouth to run down Red Jack’s naked torso. Part of him wanted to follow the trail down, lapping at the rivulets of blood before they could dry, but once his fangs were set there was no chance of him letting go. At some point during the initial frenzy one of Red Jack’s hands had found its way to the back of his head, where it remained as a gentle source of encouragement until Throndir had drank his fill.

Throndir stayed where he was for some time afterwards, collapsed on top of Red Jack and close to weeping now with relief. After a minute or two of this Red Jack grunted in discomfort and maneuvered himself into a sitting position with Throndir on his lap. The flow of blood from his shoulder had slowed to almost nothing and the remaining blood on his skin had been absorbed back into his body, leaving only what had partially dried on Throndir’s face and hands. In a matter of hours there would be no sign the wound had ever existed.

Not for the first time, Throndir wondered at Red Jack’s seemingly inexplicable nature. Despite dimming briefly at the most ravenous stage of his feeding, Throndir could tell that Red Jack’s life force now blazed with a greater intensity than it had at the start, and there was something else too.

Shifting in Red Jack’s lap brought Throndir’s leg into contact with what was obviously a clothed erection.

Throndir had to laugh. He felt half-drunk. Red Jack laughed as well, seeming more like his old self than he had since showing up at the Archives. Irrepressible, even in a situation like this.

“Some other time,” Red Jack said. “Your horse needs catching and we’d best be getting back.”

“Aren’t people going to wonder what happened to your shirt?” Throndir asked as he climbed to his feet.

Red Jack was too busy pulling the shirt off over his head and getting it caught on his horns to respond at first. Once he’d succeed in extricating himself from the ruined garment he handed it to Throndir with a gesture that indicated he should use it to wipe the blood from his face.

“It’s possible,” he agreed. “If they do, the story of the beast we slew today should serve to answer their questions. I wager you’ll find some who’ll swear they heard its honking. Everyone knows the only way to calm an angry goose is by throwing something over its head, and as luck would have it all I had was a shirt. It’s lucky you were there to deliver the killing blow.”

“I think you’d do a better job at telling the story than me.” Throndir’s head was spinning. He didn’t know if a thousand years of hard drinking had altered the properties of Red Jack’s blood or if this was always what it was like when vampires gorged themselves. “Do you think we could ride together when we get back?” he asked.

Red Jack laughed again. “There’s no one I’d rather share the road with. And if we can’t find your horse there’s always room for two in Ace’s saddle.”

Throndir’s cheeks flushed at the mental image. It felt as if any moment he might lose his footing.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you from a distance,” Red Jack continued. “I see now I should have stayed closer. Forgive me.”

Red Jack caught him before he could fall. In his drunken state Throndir had trouble understanding his words but he heard the rumble of emotion in his voice and felt the bristles of Red Jack’s beard on his neck as he pulled him into a tighter hug than before.

“Forgive me,” Red Jack repeated.

Kodiak whined somewhere close by and tried to push his way into the hug as well. Throndir wished he could say something to comfort them both, to reassure them that he was alright, really, and that the lethargy would pass, but somewhere along the way he’d lost the ability to form words of any kind.

“I won’t leave you again,” Red Jack promised. It was the last thing Throndir heard before drifting off to sleep.


End file.
